


Across The Stars

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, Star Wars AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away... there was a princess who led a rebellion against an evil Empire, and a smuggler captain who was only in it for the money, and cared about nothing else. Or perhaps, he simply needed reminding that he could...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars AU; I probably won't do the entire storyline from the movies, but a few selected bits of it.

The command centre was busy as always, tinny voices reporting in over headsets, soldiers and officers striding through the narrow spaces, a scene of organised chaos.

As organised as the Rebellion ever got, anyway.

Emma did her best to ignore the noise around her as she leaned over the back of Leroy’s chair, eyes on the display in front of him. There had to be a way to reroute that convoy to avoid the new Imperial patrols along the Corellian Trade Spine. The Alliance needed those supplies.

She took a moment while Leroy called up the next report to stand up straight and stretch a little, her skin tingling with goosebumps. Even with two layers of cold-weather thermal gear, it was cold.

She glanced around the room, over towards the door, and stopped short. It had just opened again to admit someone, and when Emma saw who it was, she had to bite back a curse.

Dark hair, swaggering stride at complete odds with the Rebel soldiers around him, jacket and half-open shirt in apparent disdain for the cold, and far more handsome features than he had any right to. Killian Jones, also known around the fringe as Hook. Smuggler captain, hotshot pilot, all-around scoundrel.

He strode past a display, eyes scanning the room, and managed to turn around just in time to catch her looking at him.

Even that set her teeth on edge. She had never met a man who could raise her hackles just by walking into a room.

It didn’t help that every time he walked into a room, she managed to pick _exactly_ that moment to look over at the door.

She gave him an arch look, raised her chin a little, and turned back to the display.

It didn’t work. The background noise that had been almost soothing before now distracted her, because Hook’s voice was cutting through it, and because she couldn’t help wondering what he was even doing here. The man was impossible to ignore. Emma knew; she had tried. She still did. She’d never been one to be intimidated by _impossible_.

“Jones.” That was Regina Mills’ voice, a familiar mix of matter-of-fact and impatient; somehow, she always managed to give the impression of being interrupted in the middle of something important. Emma chanced another look. Hook had his back to her now, facing Regina, so he wouldn’t be able to catch her this time.

“The planet appears to be as barren and lifeless as ever, General,” Hook said, his voice all business. Emma had to fight to keep from making a face. Maybe this was why he’d come to report in person, to have the opportunity to make it as verbose and flowery as possible. The man loved his words.

Or maybe he just loved the sound of his voice saying them.

“The sensors are in place,” Hook went on. “If any unannounced visitors do decide to drop by, you’ll know about it.”

Emma frowned. Why the hell _was_ he here? That was hardly the kind of report he needed to give in person, and he hated giving reports at the best of times. In fact, from what she could see of him, he looked nervous.

Killian Jones, nervous. Now _there_ was a new concept.

Regina just nodded. “Has Commander Lucas reported in yet?”

“No, he’s investigating a meteorite that impacted near his assigned route.”

Emma braced herself inwardly, but Regina barely reacted to the change in plans. Maybe she’d finally resigned herself to the fact that when Hook and Neal were involved, there was _always_ a change in plans.

“All the meteor activity will make it a lot harder to spot approaching ships,” was all the general said.

It came out, then, in a rush that told Emma exactly why Hook had come in person, and why he hadn’t stopped for an argument with her on the way.  “General, I need to leave. I can’t stay any longer.”

It took Emma a second to realise that he didn’t mean the command centre. He meant the Rebellion.

He was leaving her.

It was like being punched in the gut, an icy shock that settled in Emma’s stomach, colder that Hoth. She’d always known that he’d leave sooner or later. She hadn’t realised until right now that she’d been hoping he wouldn’t.

Regina’s eyes seem to flicker over Hook’s shoulder to Emma for a split second, but her expression shows only a mild disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Aye, well, there’s still a price on my head. If I don’t pay off the Crocodile, I’m not much longer for the world of the living,” Hook said, and Emma marvelled distantly at how he could make dying sound like poetry.

“It can’t be easy to live with a death mark like that.” Regina actually sounded sympathetic, and there was a smile on her face now as she held out her hand to him. “You’re a good fighter, Jones. I hate to lose you.”

Hook shook her hand with his good one, and nodded. “Thank you, General.”

He turned sharply, almost aggressively, a touch of almost military discipline in the movement hinting at a past that Emma still knew hardly anything about. It was too late to pretend that she hadn’t noticed him, but since she was well within earshot, there was no way he’d have bought it anyway.

Besides, this was not something she needed to deny. He knew how she felt about this.

Which was probably why there was an extra dose of defiance and arrogance lifting his chin as he strode over to her. “Well, Swan, I guess this is it.”

And just like that, the coldness in her gut flared into white-hot anger. He had a talent for making her angry at the best of times, just by being so insufferably smug and unreasonably confrontational and sarcastic, but this was worse.

Three years. Three years, countless battles, too many moments that had her thinking that maybe she could count on him… and this was how it ended?

_This is it._

But if he didn’t care, then damn it, neither would she.

She lifted her chin, anger making her movements sharp and her eyes cold. He was not getting a thing from her. Neal would be upset to see him go, and he’d readily admit it, but Emma would not. She was ice.

“Guess so,” was all she said, gratified that her voice came out just as controlled and icy as she’d meant it to. Since meeting Hook, she’d found a dozen new uses for her diplomatic training; this was definitely one of them.

It didn’t seem to be the reaction he’d been hoping for, and Emma could see it on his face. She could match his fire, but he couldn’t do ice the way she could. He tried; she could see him wrestle to regain his balance, but she’d just scored a hit.

Even when he smirked, it wasn’t the arrogant, untouchable expression that never failed to raise her hackles. It was a poor attempt at best, the kind of defiance that only confirmed that he was covering up a hit. “Do try to contain yourself,” he all but snarled. “Goodbye, Princess.”

He stormed out of the command centre, and if the door hadn’t been automatic, Emma thought that he would have slammed it.

She hesitated for an instant. But she had hit a nerve, it had been written all over his face. Much as he pretended not to, he _did_ care – what she thought, how she felt, maybe a little of both. He wasn’t walking away without second thoughts.

Which meant that she might be able to persuade him not to walk away at all.

And if she couldn’t, she could at least vent some of this anger at him rather than snapping at Neal or one of the droids later.

She squeezed past Leroy’s chair and hurried out the door.

“Hook, wait!”

He was still within sight, striding down the corridor, and he came to an immediate stop when she called his name. “Yes, your Highnessness?”

She _hated_ it when he did that, but this time she brushed past it, not about to let him sidetrack her into another stupid argument about her name (to be followed by a snide or suggestive comment, no doubt; she’d been down that hyperspace lane before). She stopped directly in front of him, facing him across the corridor. “I thought you had decided to stay, to be a part of something.”

Evidently that wasn’t quite what he was hoping for either, because he turned to go. “That I did, but the encounter with Mendel changed my mind.”

The memory of that particular incident was still fresh in Emma’s mind, too, a simple supply run turned sour when two of Rumplestiltskin’s minions tracked Hook down. She’d yelled at him for that; for jeopardising the mission, for putting her in danger, for dragging her into his stupid vendetta.

She’d regretted it almost immediately when she’d seen the look on his face. She’d apologised, too, and she’d thought that they were past it. Yes, there was a price on his head, but it wasn’t like that was rare around here. They were all wanted for treason, especially Emma herself. Hook had lived with it for years now. This was not just about that.

She gave chase, ducking past a soldier carrying a crate. “Hook, we need you!”

“ _We_ need?” He drew up short, spinning to face her again. “And what do _you_ need?”

She caught the change in pronoun, unclear as it was, and a little jolt in her stomach reminded her that this man had a tendency to flip the subject and trap her in innuendo if she wasn’t careful. Granted, this didn’t seem like the kind of situation where he would, but another thing she’d learned about Killian Jones was that you just never knew.

_If in doubt, feign ignorance._ “I need? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He snapped the fingers of his good hand in front of her face, gave her a look as if she’d just narrowly missed the right answer in a pop quiz. “Alas, you probably don’t.”

And he was walking again, and she was chasing after him again, unable to let it go. “So tell me! What _are_ you talking about?”

“Oh come _on_!” he ground out, storming along the corridor like a man on a mission. “You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!”

She almost lost her patience completely. Of course she did. He knew that she wanted him to stay, she’d made no secret of it. In fact, she’d taken great pains to impress on him that she considered him an important asset, that she valued his help and his skills, all personal difficulties aside. She had reached out to him even when the others wanted to write him off; she trusted him, because she knew he was more than just a smuggler captain out for himself.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “You’re a great help to us, you’re a natural leader–”

He rounded on her. “No! That’s not it.” He leaned back, as if to better regard her; one of the techs used the chance to squeeze past, not giving either of them a second glance. The princess arguing with the smuggler had, in retrospect, become something of a routine occurrence. Even Robin and Neal had given up on trying to mediate.

Hook narrowed his eyes at her and raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Swan, admit it.”

She caught on to his meaning then, and sought refuge behind an extra-cold glare. She hated it when he did this, too, steering towards this odd territory of innuendo and something else, just barely glimpsed beyond it. She could have handled the flirting. What she couldn’t handle was the sneaking suspicion that, if she ever reciprocated, she’d soon find herself in deeper than she wanted to get.

With anyone.

But she had other reasons. She was doing this for Neal, for the Alliance, for morale, for everyone. There was no time for her personal feelings. Besides which, even if she was in any way attracted to him – and she knew for a fact that no one could prove that – she knew better than to get involved with a man like Killian Jones. A man constantly on the verge of leaving.

The thought put a little extra ice into her reply. “You’re imagining things.”

The hint of smugness disappeared, replaced by anger again. “Is that so? Then why is it you’re following me? Were you worried I’d leave without kissing you goodbye?”

She drew back, no longer quite as cool and controlled as she’d like, feeling the fire in her eyes again. Of all the arrogant, insufferable– “I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee!”

“I can arrange that!” Hook shot back. “You could use a good kiss!”

And with that, he was storming off again, anger vibrating from every stride.

This time, Emma didn’t follow. Instead, she stared after him, anger still roiling inside her.

She should have known better than to go after him in the first place. Should have known that there was no convincing him, stupid mercenary that he was–

But she cut her own mental diatribe short, because she knew it was unjust. There was more to him than money, whether he’d admit it or not. Whether he wanted it or not.

But it looked like he was determined to stay on this path, and she would not beg, and she would not cry.

Just another mark in the losses column.

This one just hurt more than most.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian’s boots thudded on the frozen ground, his legs carrying him toward the docking bay in record time. The Rebels he met stepped out of his way; droids were nowhere in sight. It was like they all knew that he was waiting for a reason to yell at someone.

He should have known better than to even talk to her. He should have just told General Mills that he and Smee were out, said goodbye to the lad Neal, and bailed. But no, he’d just _had_ to seek out the princess and get into one last argument, receive one last icy look.

One last confirmation that her regard for him was that of a general assessing her troops.

Every step towards his ship was a step towards freedom, and he should have been exuberant, but even as he stomped his feet he knew that he was also dragging them.

A great help? What kind of reason was that to stay?

Was Neal a great help too? Everyone knew that the farm boy and the princess were thick as thieves. Was that personal, or did he just merit more attention because he was a wannabe Jedi and thus a greater help than a lowly smuggler?

His comlink chimed, and one glance told him it was Emma. He hit the “off” button with rather more force than necessary. It was against regulations to turn it off, but he was done with this army and its regulations and its leaders who insisted on seeing him as nothing more than another soldier for the cause.

It was Smee who obliged him in the end; when he reached the _Jolly Roger_ , it was to find that his first mate had taken the aft repulsor motivator apart.

In the Wookiee’s defence, he hadn’t known that his captain was in such a hurry to get off Hoth.

But Killian was not in interested in the Wookiee’s defence. He was far more interested in yelling. “What, pray tell, motivated this impeccable timing? I’m doing my damnedest to get us both out of here, and you decide that _this_ is the time to pull both of these–”

“Captain? Excuse me, Captain!”

Of course. Killian stopped mid-sentence to glare up at the source of the interruption, and of bloody course it was the damn droid. R-3T0, better known as Archie, personal assistant to Princess Emma and twice as annoying. And without any of the princess’s fire, or courage, or beauty, or other saving graces to make up for it.

Killian wasn’t nearly done yelling, in fact he now had _more_ to yell about, but he knew Archie. If he yelled, the droid would simply continue to politely try and say or do whatever he’d come here to say or do.

He turned back towards Smee. “Put it back together or so help me!”

“Captain?”

Sighing, he manoeuvred himself out from under the ship. “What is it now?”

“It’s Princess Emma,” Archie said in that typical tone that meant well but only grated on Killian’s nerves. “She’s been trying to reach you on the communicator.”

“I turned it off. I have no desire to speak with her.”

Archie didn’t try to offer his services with mediating. He’d given up on Hook and Emma’s case remarkably quickly after meeting them both, in fact. “Oh. Well, she’s worried about Master Neal. She doesn’t know where he is.”

Killian gritted his teeth. Neal. Of course it was about Neal. What did he look like, the lad’s babysitter? If she wanted Neal, she ought to try calling _him_. Killian had had just about enough of solving everyone’s problems around here. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Nobody knows where he is,” Archie said.

And belatedly, Killian realised that he hadn’t heard from or seen Neal since coming in from his patrol. He’d assumed that the lad would follow suit soon and report in, given how annoyingly dedicated he was about matters like that, but if nobody knew where he was…

It also occurred to him that if Emma was trying to reach _him_ despite how angry she probably still was, it was because her worry for Neal was outweighing everything else.

Killian’s gut churned. “What do you mean, _nobody_ knows?”

He realised that he was uninterested in the droid’s answer, and that that answer was surely forthcoming, before Archie even began to respond.

“Well, uh–”

The droid stopped as Killian turned his back, yelling for the deck officer, who came running immediately. Not one to give up so easily, Archie stepped after him, servomotors whirring. “Excuse me, sir, might I inqui—”

But if Killian was uninterested in the droid’s answers, he was even less interested in his questions. He reached behind him to clasp his good hand over the droid’s vocoder, silencing him, as the rebel officer reached him.

“Yessir?”

“Have you any information on Commander Lucas’s whereabouts?”

The officer shot an odd look towards the droid, but either he was used to Killian’s behaviour or he was actually too professional to get sidetracked from answering a question.  
Perhaps both, Killian allowed.

“I haven’t seen him. It’s possible he came in through the south entrance.”

That made four of them without any idea of where Neal was. Killian felt his stomach tighten. “It’s _possible_? I suggest you go and find out. It’s getting dark out there.”

The officer showed no reaction to Killian’s admittedly snarky tone. He also didn’t hesitate, or stop to ask stupid questions. With a nod and a “yessir”, he turned on his heel to go.

Professional indeed.

Killian turned back the other way, taking his hand off Archie’s vocoder as he did so. Predictably, the droid immediately began talking again.

“Excuse me, sir, but might I inquire what’s going on?”

Killian’s mind was already racing. If Neal hadn’t returned, they were going to have to look for him, and quickly. Hoth’s nights were deadly cold, far too cold for a human to survive. Neal had been carrying the standard survival gear pack, but if something had happened to him, there was no guarantee he still had it. Killian couldn’t imagine what might have happened to him in the five minutes he’d left him out there alone, but then again, the lad had shown a remarkable talent for getting himself into trouble. Between that and Emma’s talent for disagreeing with him on every subject in the galaxy, Killian thought darkly, it was a miracle that he even still knew what patience was.

But trouble or not, annoying or not, he couldn’t leave Neal out there to die.

To the south entrance, then. Find out if Neal had checked in, and if not, whether the techs had gotten the speeders adjusted yet.

“Why not?” he told Archie philosophically, and left him standing there.

Behind him, he could hear the droid voicing his reproach for him, a familiar thing by now, followed by even more familiar concern. Archie was _always_ concerned.

Granted, right now Killian was pretty concerned too. But _that_ sounded like something Emma would point out, so he ignored the thought.

Neal hadn’t come in the south entrance. He hadn’t checked in at all, and Killian knew better than to even consider the possibility that he might have forgotten. Neal had thrown himself into this rebellion thing with all the fervour and enthusiasm of an idealist determined to do good, and he loved it. He even talked about writing and filing reports with stars in his eyes.

The speeders weren’t ready to go, either, their repulsors unable to handle the extreme temperatures without an overhaul.

Killian didn’t hesitate, pushing towards the section that functioned as a makeshift stables. “We shall have to go out on tauntauns.”

Briefly, he thought of Emma, who would absolutely _not_ approve of this course of action. Neither would Smee; he’d insist on going in Killian’s stead, or at least with him. But the Wookiee was still putting the _Roger_ back together, and there was no time. Neal was out there freezing to death right now, Killian knew it.

Besides, if someone had to go out there, it might as well be him.

The deck officer didn’t approve, either. “Your tauntaun will freeze before you reach the first marker!” he called as he hurried after Killian.

Killian didn’t falter, long since used to people trying to tell him he couldn’t do the things he wanted to do, and just as used to shrugging them off. Neal was out there. And he was going to get him back.

“Then I’ll see you in hell!” he all but snarled, before spurring his tauntaun forward and heading out into the cold, fading light.

 

*  *  *

 

Emma stared at the golden protocol droid, a heavy feeling squeezing her chest. “Who authorised that?” she demanded.

Archie looked as miserable as someone could look while being unable to change their facial expression. “No one authorised it. I’m sorry, your Highness. According to Commander Humbert, Captain Jones simply commandeered a tauntaun and headed out!”

Emma clenched her fists. Of course he had. Hadn’t stopped to check in, hadn’t bothered to clear it, oh no, the infamous Captain Hook didn’t have to bother with such trivialities.

  _And you wouldn’t have?_ the voice in her head asked. She grimaced. The trouble with being good at detecting lies, she’d long since learned, was that it also made it hard to lie to herself. A useful thing, overall, especially for one of the leaders of a rebellion whose entire justification was that they were legally wrong, but morally right. She needed a strong conscience, and that required facing the truth, no matter how uncomfortable.

But it was, on occasion, inconvenient.

It didn’t matter what she would or wouldn’t have done, she told herself sternly. What matter was that Hook had done it, and she now had two men to worry about.

Two friends to lose.

 _Stop it_ , she ordered herself. She wasn’t losing anyone. Hook and Neal had both survived a lot already.

“Has he checked in since then?” Emma asked.

“Not as far as I know, your Highness.”

Emma shook her head, already reaching for her comlink, trying to think who she could call for more information. But if Hook hadn’t checked in, then no one in the base would know any more than she did.

“Never mind,” she told Archie. “Come on. Let’s head down to the hangar. At least that way we’ll know the minute they show up.” Her gaze caught sight of PN-G0 as she turned; the astromech droid was quiet as usual, waiting patiently until he was needed. “You too, Pongo. Maybe your scanners will be able to pick something up.”

The little black and white droid gave a whistle of acknowledgement, and swivelled to head out of the room. Emma followed, still fuming silently, mentally composing a diatribe to hurl at Hook as soon as she saw him again.

Trying hard not to think about what she’d do if she _didn’t_ see him again.

_*  *  *_

 

She could always tell how bad things were by how hard the officers around her tried not to let on how bad it was. By now, she knew better than to try and persuade them that it wasn’t necessary, that after watching her planet blow up before her eyes she could handle any truth. They wanted to protect her. That was important, too.

They were trying hard now. Graham was skulking around the hangar bay like a concerned ghost, comlink in hand, eyes looking up at every noise. The men avoided Emma as she leaned back against Robin’s X-Wing, not sure if she was trying to hide or seeking support. Nearby, Smee was pacing across the hangar floor, silent and watchful. The droids had moved over to the hangar entrance to extend Pongo’s sensor range as far as possible without venturing into the cold.

The cold. Emma could feel the temperature dropping, fighting back a shiver. They would have to close the shield doors soon, to protect the base and all their equipment from Hoth’s unforgiving climate during the night. They should have done so already, in fact; a glance at her chronometre told her that it was past time.

“Sir?” a voice called, and a young man Emma didn’t recognise came hurrying up to Graham. “All the patrols are in. Still no—“

Graham cut him off with a gesture and a concerned look toward Emma. The man continued, in a lower voice that Emma nevertheless still heard. “Still no contact from Lucas or Jones.”

His efforts were negated fully by the appearance of Archie, making his way over to her with that stilted gait, Pongo on his heels. “Mistress Emma, Pongo has been quite unable to pick up any signals. Although he does admit that his range is far too weak to abandon all hope.”

“Your Highness.” Graham joined them, his face soft with sympathy as he looked at her. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. The shield doors must be closed.”

She wanted to scream, to insist that they were alive, that Hook would find Neal and get him back to the base, that they couldn’t lock them out there in the cold. But she knew better. They’d probably leave the doors open if she ordered them to. And the cold would creep into the mechanism, freezing it in place, and dooming the entire base to endure the freezing conditions for the night.

And even more people would die. Because of her.

Emma thought that maybe, Graham would give the order without her; but he was waiting for her, maybe hoping that she still had an answer, a last-minute solution. And it was, as always, her call.

She nodded, a slight movement of her head. It was enough. Graham nodded back, and turned to the officer beside him. “Close the doors.”

Smee had come closer now, bracing himself against one of the support struts as if he no longer had the strength to stand. He’d nearly rushed out there himself, she knew, desperate to get his captain back to safety, but he knew as well as everyone else how pointless and suicidal that would be.

“Yessir.”

They left to carry out their orders, leaving Emma alone with the droids. The little astromech twittered.

“Pongo says their chances of survival are seven hundred and twenty five... to one.”

Emma wanted to get mad at Archie for pointing that out, but she didn’t have it in her. Besides, he was only reporting the truth. She was the one who’d given the order.

Behind the Wookiee, the doors began moving. Emma braced herself as the gap between them shrank, heard the Wookiee’s soft moan over the hum of machinery, and knew that this was on her.

The doors slammed shut with a heavy sound, like a closing sarcophagus, and Smee threw his head back and roared mournfully, unashamed of his grief and pain and worry. Emma remained silent, calm, unmoving, still unable to muster up any anger or even tears. Maybe she just didn’t have any left.

“Actually, Pongo has been known to make mistakes,” Archie said, as if there was any chance that any of them would find that comforting. “From time to time,” he added uncertainly. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Emma didn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at Smee, either, couldn’t seem to lift her eyes off the ground at all as she walked away. The doors were closed, and that was that. They would freeze in place overnight, and with that, the rebels were sealed in.

And Hook and Neal were locked out.

There would be no news, no reports, nothing at all until morning came and the doors could be opened again. There was no point in staying here, and Emma needed to get away from them all. They didn’t need to see her worry. They didn’t need to spend the rest of their shift tip-toeing around her and trying to give her information or hope where there was none.

For a long time, she didn’t sleep, unable to stop replaying this afternoon in her head and wondering, over and over, if there was anything she could have done. Thinking back to the last time she’d seen Hook, what she’d said to him.

Maybe if she hadn’t, he’d have checked in before heading out after Neal. She could have talked to him, made him see reason, made him stay...

It was so much useless exercise. The rational part of her knew that there was no way she could have prevented any of it. But then, the rational part of her also knew that there was nothing she could have done about Alderaan. It never stopped the nightmares.

She did not want Hook and Neal to appear there, alongside her dead homeworld and foster mother. She’d feared it, before, but after three years of getting into one impossible situation after the other with those two and always finding a way out, she’d begun to trust that she wouldn’t lose them, too. At least, not like that. Hook had always been cagey about sticking around, first reminding her that he was in this for the money, then increasingly citing the price on his head as justification. The prospect of his leaving had been bad enough. The thought of losing him like this, for good, was infinitely worse.

 _It’s when life gets tough that our trust is tested_ , her foster mother had always told her. _Trusting during the good times is easy. Trusting and holding onto hope when everything’s arrayed against you... that’s the true test._

They were not helpless out there, she reminded herself. Neal had his Jedi skills, erratic as they still seemed to be. And Hook had finely-honed survival instincts and more than his share of pure, dumb luck. It was possible to survive out there. He’d find a way.

She repeated that thought to herself a few times, trying her best to believe it. Eventually, her exhaustion won out and she fell asleep.

She dreamed of home, and bright white destruction, and snow that came and swept away everything she’d ever loved.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning found Emma back in the command centre, listening to the comm chatter as Robin Locksley led Rogue Squadron out across the plains of Hoth in the newly-refurbished air speeders. Regina was in the middle of it all, her eyes full of fire that was directed at no one in particular. At least, no one currently present. If Hook ever made it back to base, he was in for a lengthy lecture.

In the meantime, Regina was expending the extra energy on pacing through the command centre, barking orders, scanning through reports, overseeing the launch, and double-checking the search grid. Since the squadron had left the hangar, there wasn’t much left for her to do, but she was doing it anyway. Robin had conducted enough search-and-rescue missions to know what he was doing, but Regina Mills was not one to sit idly by while others did all the work. She was on the comm, demanding updates, conferring with Robin, tracing the squadron’s progress.

It hadn’t escaped Emma’s attention that Regina always seemed to be as involved as she could be in every one of Rogue Squadron’s missions.

Emma herself had ushered Leroy out of his seat and taken over the comm station, trying to stay calm as she waited for the report of a sighting.

The pilots were mostly silent, trying to reach Hook and Neal on other channels, but over the squadron frequency she could hear occasional terse reports. Leroy and the others had already calculated the area that it was possible to cover by tauntaun and on foot, but Emma had instructed them to widen it. There was no reason to expect Hook to stick to any normal limitations. If his search for Neal had required going farther, then he would have done exactly that.

Rogue Squadron was now more or less methodically combing through that area, bit by bit. Emma hadn’t told them to give it their all. They were probably just as eager to find Neal as she was; he was one of them. Even Hook, for all his contrariness and tendency to win every sabacc game, was generally an accepted part of the group, as much as he was willing to be. They’d flown more than enough missions together over the past few years.

If Hook and Neal were out there to be found, the Rogues would find them.

She was just reassuring herself of that when there was a crackle, and Will Scarlet’s voice sounded in her ears. Mid-sentence, as if he – or possibly one of the others – had only just remembered to switch to the general frequency for this. “... I’ve found something... not much, but it could be a life form.”

Emma’s heartbeat quickened even as her brain automatically went into expectation-dampening mode. It could be one of Hoth’s indigenous creatures. It could be nothing at all, just a glitch in the T-47’s old and possibly malfunctioning sensors. The techs _said_ those should work fine, but they’d all thought that about the repulsors at first, too.

“The rest of you stick to the pattern,” she instructed, probably needlessly, but her nerves were strung too high now to stay silent. “It could be nothing.”

“Copy,” Robin’s voice came, but Emma could hear the hope in the man’s voice.

And then Will’s voice was back, and there was no mistaking the smile in his voice. “Echo Base, this is Rogue Two. I found them. Repeat, I found them.”

“Are they okay?” Emma demanded. She was vaguely aware of Regina coming up behind her, shaking her chair a little as she grabbed the backrest and leaned over Emma’s shoulder to listen in.

“Captain Jones seems fine,” Will replied, sounding more like he was having a chat than giving a report. But then, he always sounded like that. A year in the Rebellion hadn’t managed to shake that out of him, and Emma privately doubted whether anything ever would. “Little snarky, maybe, but I’d call that a good sign.”

Something deep within Emma seemed to untwist itself. “Yeah.”

“Hold on, I’ll see if I can patch you through.”

There was a pause, then a crackle of static, and then Hook’s voice. “—arning you Scarlet, don’t you _dare_ —hello?”

“Hook.” A flood of relief washed through her, followed and chased away immediately by anger, which was squashed in turn by renewed worry for Neal. “Are you—is Neal there?”

“He’s still asleep,” Hook said, his voice sounding tinny and distant and, yes, snarky. “Nice to hear from you, too—---”

“What happened?” Emma demanded, not in the mood for _that_ right now.

“I honestly don’t know,” he told her. “I think he must have encountered one of the locals. He’s a little banged up, and I’ve had to medicate him to combat the effects of exposure.”

Emma’s heart skipped another beat. “A little banged up”, in the Killian Jones dictionary, could mean anything from a few bruises to a broken leg and cracked ribs.

“But it doesn’t seem critical,” Hook went on quickly. “Don’t worry, Swan. He’ll just have to—wait, I can hear Scarlet’s speeder now. I’ll send him back with Neal as soon as he lands.”

“I’ll have a medical team waiting in the hangar,” Emma said, turning to glance up at Regina. The other woman nodded at her and took out her comlink to give the order. Emma stayed put, channel still open. “Are you okay?”

“Aye,” he assured her, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought that the snark had disappeared entirely now. “I’m fine, though rather cramped from spending the night in this contraption. It’s labelled a two-man tent, but I’m reasonably certain they must have been using dwarfs when they measured it out. False advertising, if you ask me.”

“I’ll talk to the supply people about relabeling them,” Emma told him drily, fighting the smile that wanted to break out. Usually, his grousing elicited nothing but eye-rolling from her, but right now, she was still too busy being happy that she was hearing anything at all from him.

“Good.” There was a rustling noise in the background. “Time to go. Goodbye for now, Swan.”

She liked that a lot better than _this is it_. Not that he needed to know that. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she warned him. “See you soon.”

She keyed off before he could answer, turning her attention to everyone else. Robin was already heading over to join Will, and the rest of the squadron was on their way back. She stayed long enough to get Will’s report on Neal’s status, which was about as nebulous as Hook’s had been, and then she left the comm station to Leroy and headed down to the hangar bay.

 

*   *   *

 

The flight back to the base was, in many ways, the worst part of the entire ordeal. For one thing, Killian had to sit in the gunner’s seat, which meant facing backwards; for another, while Robin was inarguably a good pilot, he still didn’t do everything the way Killian would have done it.

And then, of course, there was the prospect of what awaited him at the end of the flight.

Still, he’d found the lad, hadn’t he? Saved his life. And he hadn’t gone against orders, technically. In fact, technically, he hadn’t even broken any rules, because he’d quit. He wasn’t bound by any of their rules anymore.

And Emma hadn’t sounded all that mad...

He grimaced. No, she hadn’t, but that was probably just the initial relief. She now had all the time it took him to get back to the base to remember all of the reasons she had to be mad at him.

She wasn’t in the hangar when Robin brought the speeder to a smooth but, in Hook’s opinion, slightly too fast landing in the hangar bay. Smee was, pacing back and forth, loping over to them as Killian vaulted out of the gunner’s seat. Moments later, he was spitting Wookiee hair out of his mouth as he was enveloped in a rib-crushing hug.

“It’s all right, you big—pfft!” Killian managed to free his good hand and wipe it across his mouth, feeling the stubble there. “Really, you’re making far too big a deal of this.”

Smee was growling admonishments, undeterred by his captain’s discomfort.

“Yes, well, the lad had gotten himself into quite the predicament,” Killian said. “What was I supposed to do, sit back and hold her Highness’s hand while we worried about him?”

Smee rumbled something.

“Fine,” Killian said stiffly. “Next time, we’ll hold a meeting first and decide on the most sensible course of action while he freezes to death. I’m sure he’ll die comforted that at least we didn’t do anything _rash_ in an effort to save his life.”

Another rumbled remark, this sounding a little miffed.

“There’s no need to be so overdramatic, either,” Killian told him. “I made it, and so did Neal. Where is he, anyway?”

The answer was predictable: they’d taken him to the medcentre, and Emma had gone with them. With a sigh, Killian disentangled himself from the Wookiee.

“I’d better check on him.”

Smee growled a question, and Killian shrugged. “All I know is that he suffered injuries and exposure before I found him. I have no idea what happened to him. He was in no state to explain anything.”

At least, he amended silently, not in a way that meant anything. All that babbling about blue fairies and Dagobah and Tonk or Tink or whatever it was hadn’t exactly shed any light on the situation.

When he reached the medcentre, it was to find that Neal had already been submerged in a bacta tank. Emma stood nearby with the MD droid, nodding as the droid showed her a datapad and explained something. They both looked up as he entered.

One look at Emma told him that she wasn’t mad. At least, not openly. She seemed to withdraw into herself as she looked at him, her chin coming up in a familiar way.

“Hook.”

“Swan.”  For a moment, they only looked at each other, seemingly stuck in the silence between them. Killian cleared his throat, inclining his head toward the tank. “How is he?”

“Lacerations on his face and upper body,” Emma said, her voice all business. “Like from an animal’s claws, they said.”

“One of those Wampa creatures maybe?” he suggested.

“Maybe. Although that would beg the question of how he’s even still alive.”

“It’s Neal,” he said.

She conceded that with a shrug and the shadow of a smile. “Right. Aside from that, he’s suffered exposure, but nothing bad. Looks like you got to him just in time.”

Killian looked over at Neal’s still form, floating upright in the tank, distorted by the convex glass. His dark hair swirled around his face, partly obscuring it, but Killian could see the angry welts marking his pale skin. Killian had checked and taken care of the wounds as best he could with the medkit from his survival pack, but he hadn’t even tried to figure out where they’d come from. If Neal really had run into one of those creatures...

Either way, it was starting to hit him just how close this one had been. He didn’t like it one bit. It felt... he wasn’t sure how he felt. But he knew that he didn’t like it.

The kid had irritated him from the moment he’d blown into his life, all wide-eyed and innocent and full of idealism. It had been one crazy idealistic crusade after the next, one terrible plan after the next, and when he wasn’t gushing over the Rebellion, he was gushing about his Jedi training... or the princess. It was, at times, like having a puppy as a little brother.

But Neal believed in him. That was a whole other level of annoying, but to Killian’s immense frustration, it also made it twice as hard to let him down. It was the same with Emma. Her brand of idealistic fervour was different, a little more realistic, but it burned just as brightly. It was really no wonder that the two of them got along so well. And _that_ made the whole thing even more annoying, petty and jealous and stupid as that particular thought was.

Maybe he was getting soft. Maybe he’d fallen under the spell of whatever magic Neal supposedly had. Or maybe, somewhere deep in his cynical heart, Killian just didn’t want the galaxy to lose another idealist. Especially not either of these two.

“Aye,” he said softly. “It would appear so.” He hesitated. “Send word when they wake him?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Will you still be here?”

He didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing. “Considering that my ship’s aft repulsor motivator is currently in pieces, I have little choice in the matter,” he said as lightly as he could manage. But then he sobered a little, and nodded. “Aye. I want to make sure he’s all right.”

Emma’s expression might have softened a little; he couldn’t quite tell. “Okay.”

He left her there, watching over the young man in the tank, mixed feelings swirling inside him with every step. Overall, though, he thought that he felt a little lighter.


End file.
